He returns from the battle, claws bloodied, his dark hair tied back with a blue ribbon, as always, with the golden peacock ornament not even knocked ajar- somehow, even in the chaos that is war, he is forever beautiful...He sees everything in terms of beauty, organization, art. War is art to him. How he can find such a troublesome affair as anything but such is beyond the strategist as he watches the warrior's return.
Zhang He, Junyi...The man puzzles Wei's brightest mind like nothing else. He seems to be such an odd assortment of traits that would seem mutually exclusive, but somehow they meet in the tall man. He is fierce as a peacock, deceptively calm and serene until his passions roused- then the ground will, inevitably, be stained with the bright blood of his opponents. There he goes, thinks the silent observer, until the next bout-
Sima Zhongda is restless tonight. The moon is out, full, casting its ambient silver light on Wei's camp. He suspects that most of the troops have turned in for the night, although he can hear the sounds of men laughing and the occasional song, and can see the orange glow of some fires kept alive and well.
Junyi's narrowed eyes dart towards Zhongda's tent. He was standing there just a moment ago, the warrior knows- but already, the foxlike man has vanished into the safe confines of his territory. The warrior muses to himself for a few moments before walking towards the entrance. His guards are nowhere in sight, most likely run off by their cantankerous charge himself. A small smile on his delicate lips, he pushes the curtain aside, stepping unbidden into the other man's tent. It's a bold move to make.
Zhongda's back is turned when Junyi enters the inner sanctum of the tent. He wears a basic silk robe, extranneous finery removed for the night, with his customary headdress nowhere in sight. His hair is untied, cascading in silky ebon strands to mid-back. He stiffens as he senses the other's presence. Wheeling around, he turns to face the man who he had, only minutes ago, been watching. His eyes glinting amber, he stares at the intruder and asks, simply enough, what he is doing there.
Junyi, perpetually formal, is a match for the aloof Zhongda as he states his business: "Oh, just admiring the surrounding beauty..." His voice trails off at the end. Amber eyes narrow as Sima Yi senses, correctly or otherwise, that he is being toyed with- and he doesn't like it. "Oh?" he responds, trying to gauge the warrior's angle. Junyi is known for being flamboyant and slightly eccentric, so he isn't ready to react to the perceived taunt so quickly. "What beauty would that be, Zhang Junyi?"
"The beauty," Junyi waves his clawed hand in a flourish as he replies, "of Wei." Zhongda is impatient with the other man's games, and wishes to himself that the other would just as soon take off the damned claws if he's going to be flapping his arms about like a displaying cockerel while inside the tent. He scowls slightly. Then the warrior unexpectedly continues. "And mainly, the beauty of our Lord Strategist," he finishes with a bow.
Zhongda is still staring, perhaps a bit impatiently, at his guest. He still feels like he's being trifled with.
"Well, that's all well and good, but my beauty will turn into a ferocious sort indeed if you aren't out of here by the time I turn back around, General." He turns his back on the other man, hoping that the power of intimidation he has over many of the other officers and soldiers will aid him in this awkward, unexpected situation. He doesn't like awkwardness, nor does he like things that come unexpectedly. He likes his strategies, his statistics, his maps, his intelligence. He is lord of his domain, and he prefers things stay that way, but it doesn't seem that his will is the force in control this night. He feels a soft breath on the side of his neck; Junyi has discarded his weapons and lifted a lock of the ornery strategist's hair to his lips.
"So fragrant, like the blossoms in Spring..." he murmurs.
Now the younger man is starting to let his frustration show; he shoulders the warrior away and lets his voice sink to a quiet growl. "Out. Now," he snarls at the general. Furthuring his frustration and anger, he has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach- for all he wants to hate it, to strike it down and be gone with it, he's feeling like the attention isn't as unwelcome as he would like it to be. He considers briefly that maybe it's that he's away from his home in the palace, that he hasn't had time to relax except for brief periods. However, even though he is married and has sons as would be expected from any dutiful man of his breeding, he has seen the way that some men and their wives seem to share affection; he hasn't ever had the desire, that he's been aware of, for anything of the sort. He's always considered such foolish displays to be of no importance, no worth. Now he's re-evaluating his stance on these matters. He is confused, and doesn't understand why something deemed so worthless is now being brought to mind.
He is suddenly aware that Junyi is watching him, with an ever-so-slightly mischeivous look in his eyes. Zhongda scowls again, making sure that he is making his displeasure known. His mind keeps bringing his attention round to the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach, seemingly betraying him. Junyi's hand is on his shoulder, again, as the man leans in. "Zhongda," he whispers, his voice deep and soft. He feels like he's being ripped apart, two powerful warhorses pulling him in different directions, tearing his soul from his body. It's a rare situation when he feels this lost, this conflicted- he is a man of confident action, not this tug of war with his emotions, like some naive child. A second hand slides around his waist, sure and unwaivering. He swallows hard, an odd tightness in his chest, as the first hand slides over his shoulder and over his breast. Junyi is beautiful, he thinks to himself. There really isn't any denying it...The warmth of the warrior holding him is so inviting; it's like water after a grueling march through the harsh Northern desert...He drinks deeply; he can't stop himself.